


when i finally came around

by blindmadness



Series: Bridgerton College AU [3]
Category: Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Gen, Pining, Pre-Relationship, timeline shuffling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5518709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/pseuds/blindmadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Penelope Featherington has been in love with Colin Bridgerton for as long as she can remember. But this is the year things are about to get interesting. (A Bridgerton college AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i finally came around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panpipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpipe/gifts).



> Mad Bridgerton college AU adventure #3! And the one that gave me the most trouble (which may or may not be obvious; a lot of the thinking I did is sadly not visible here, due to the short format).
> 
> The whole plot of _Romancing Mister Bridgerton_ encompasses a whole lot of things happening in a short time, and it definitely poses issues for modernizing: I have to keep Colin and Penelope's age difference because of Eloise and because of the other Bridgerton narratives, but if it's a college AU, Penelope has to be college-aged, which means Colin can't _also_ be in college (I definitely don't see him as the grad school type), and a lot of the story unfolding as it does in canon doesn't make much sense if they're, say, 21 and 26 in present day. So I did a timeline shuffle and rearranged some happenings, and I think the resulting story makes things play out in a really interesting way (and also speeds up the events of RMB quite a bit).
> 
> I very much wanted to rewrite the entire ball scene (eclair shenanigans and banter with Lady Danbury and all), but I forced myself to condense because a lot of it really wouldn't have been that much different. As stated, Penelope is 21 and Colin is 26 in the present timeline; as always, some lines are taken directly from the book, some are only rephrased to modernize. Title comes from "Heavy Things" by Phish, and if you guessed it's on Julia Quinn's playlist for RMB, you are 100% correct.
> 
> This is probably the story I'd most want to expand on in the future, because I think it would change the most for being a modern AU. I had so much fun with it, possibly more than any of the others, and I hope you enjoy, dear recipient-- I know Penelope is your favorite, and I hope this story does her justice. <3

_“What are you doing?”_

Colin can’t believe what he’s seeing. It’s been a good summer break so far—he’s been back from his study abroad trip to Greece for nearly a week and still has a good month of vacation left. He’s caught up with his family and been in touch with his local friends who have gone to different schools. And he was looking forward to an easy, comfortable afternoon at home, doing absolutely nothing.

He left the living room to go to the bathroom; he couldn’t have been gone for more than five minutes. But in that time, his second-oldest sister’s best friend Penelope Featherington has arrived, and she’s crouched next to his laptop, scrolling down the document he’d left open.

Or, rather, she was. Upon hearing his near-yell of shock, she’d jumped back, nearly stumbling over her feet, eyes huge. “Colin!” she exclaims, looking intensely alarmed.

“That’s my name; don’t wear it out,” he retorts. It’s not a particularly mature comment, but he’s not feeling very mature as he moves to pick up and close his laptop, glaring at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I—” Penelope stammers a little, then swallows, not quite looking at Colin. “I was—your mom gave me a key to use for the summer—Eloise and I were supposed to go the library together, but she—she texted, she’s running late—she and your mom—and I just thought I’d—I’d—”

She’s clearly so embarrassed that she might cry at any minute. Colin feels a little guilty; Penelope’s been best friends with his sister for what feels like their entire lives, and he knows firsthand how shy she is, how awkward. He usually doesn’t make a habit of making teenage girls feel bad.

But then again, teenage girls aren’t usually reading his things—his _private_ things, that no one else has read, _ever_ —so he manages to keep the guilt down as he says, “You just thought you’d, what, read my stuff? Is this a thing you do often?”

“No,” Penelope says, sounding miserable; she’s hugging herself around the middle, and still not looking at him, and dammit, if she cries he’s _really_ going to feel terrible, no matter how deeply she’s fucked up. “I just saw it when I came in, and—and—and it’s your living room,” she finally mutters, sounding a little sullen now. “If you didn’t want anyone reading it, maybe you should have—”

“Maybe I should have taken it _to the bathroom?”_ Colin demands, scowling, and Penelope winces, retreating another step. Maybe he shouldn’t be such an asshole, but she was reading—and he’s never shared them with anyone before, and—

“I should go,” Penelope mumbles, and Colin snaps, “No, _I’ll_ go. I’m only here another month, obviously you’ve taken over the damn house—”

Penelope flinches back as if he’s hit her, and before he can change his mind about his dramatic exit, Colin is leaving the room and heading up the stairs.

But before he’s halfway up, he hears Penelope yelling “Wait, Colin!” And when he keeps going without response, she yells again, “Colin! Colin, wait, _please!”_

He stops then, not because she said _please,_ but because something about her voice sounds urgent, like she meant it. And because—well, he doesn’t know Penelope that well, but he knows her enough to know that if she’s overcoming her embarrassment about being caught doing something so invasive, whatever she wants to say is important to her.

So he turns enough to look at her—he’s still mad enough that he’s not going to go back down the stairs—and he says, slowly, “What is it?”

Penelope flushes, but clasps her hands in front of her and pushes on, though it’s clearly an effort. “I’m—I’m really sorry I read your travel journal. It was so intrusive, and—and I know I’d be so angry if anyone did it to me—I was just there, and waiting, and bored, and it was open right in front of me, and I was curious, but—that’s not an excuse. I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have.”

Colin waits, because he isn’t quite ready to say he forgives her, and he knows that she must be leading to something else.

And he’s rewarded a moment later when she continues, more intensely, “But—but I know this isn’t an excuse, either, and I’m not trying to make it one, but when I started reading, I couldn’t stop—I had to read more—Colin, it’s so good! You write so well, I felt like I was there—like I was experiencing all of it, too—I just had to keep reading. I wanted to know what happened next.”

And as Colin stares at her, openmouthed with shock, she keeps talking, earnestly. “So I know—I know you probably wouldn’t want to now—but if you ever wanted to, you know, send me the whole thing—I would really, really love to read it. With your permission,” she finishes, more quietly, lowering her gaze.

The silence after Penelope finishes talking drags on for so long that she starts to fidget again, looking horribly awkward—Colin knows it’s his cue, knows he should say something, but he’s frozen. _It’s so good. You write so well._

“You—you liked it?” he finally manages, unable to believe it.

“Liked it? I loved it!” Penelope actually takes a step forward onto the stairs, then flushes and steps back again. “Colin, didn’t you know? How good you are? It was so realistic, so well-described. I felt like I was there with you. You’re so good at making the description relatable, I knew exactly what you meant when you were talking about the water—your figurative language is so rich—you really brought it to life. I _loved_ it.”

She said that already, but Colin can’t bring himself to care. He could listen to those words forever. _I loved it. I loved it._

He’s never really made the conscious decision to avoid showing his travel journal to anyone; it’s just something he’s always done, something he’s never mentioned to anyone. Something that’s his alone. In a family of eight siblings, it can be hard, sometimes, to have something that’s entirely your own. It makes you want to hang onto anything that is.

This means, though, that he’s never thought about what could happen if anyone read it. What did it matter? It wasn’t anything serious; it was just a hobby. He’s never realized, until he saw Penelope bent over his laptop, that it actually scared him to think about putting it out there for someone to read. That he was terrified of what the reaction would be.

And Penelope—well, he doesn’t _really_ care about her, though he supposes he likes her well enough. But he would have said that her opinion didn’t mean that much to him. Now, though, he thinks about all the times he’s seen her with her nose in a book, how Eloise had had to take some kind of accelerated reading test in elementary school to keep up a friendly competition with her.

He realizes that this means that even though she’s five years younger than he is, she knows what she’s talking about. She loves to read, and she knows what good literature is. If she says she loves it—

“You mean it?” Colin finds himself saying. “You really liked it. You’d really want to read more? You’re not just saying it—” He breaks off; he had been about to say “you’re not just saying it because you like me?”, because of course he knows that she _does._ But there’s no need to bring that up and embarrass her even more.

She was nodding, enthusiastically, clearly not noticing his poorly-finished sentence. “Yes! Of course I mean it. Would you really let me read the whole thing?”

“Yeah,” Colin says without thinking. “Yeah—sure. I—” He bites his lip, feeling unaccountably shy. “I’ve—written more like it. I write them every time I travel. Would you—would you want to read the others?”

Penelope lights up, the brightest smile Colin’s ever seen crossing her face. She’s not pretty, even on her best day—she’s awkward and chubby and dresses terribly—but there’s something appealing about a smile that earnest, something that makes Colin want to smile back. “Yes! Of course I would! I—even the little bit I read, it’s—” She stops, looking embarrassed. “Never mind. It’s dumb.”

“No,” Colin says, and he’s surprised by how much he means it. He walks down the stairs until he’s only a couple of steps from Penelope, and he says fervently, “Go ahead.”

Penelope smiles, still flushing darkly. “Well, I—even the little bit I read—I liked reading it because it was brilliant, but—I also liked it so much because it seemed like _you_ really liked writing it. It was—I don’t know. Joyful, somehow.”

Colin barely has time to recover from how much he likes hearing that word, _brilliant,_ before the rest of her sentence hits him with another epiphany.

It’s true. He likes writing his travel journals. _Loves_ writing them. He can’t imagine not writing them. He loves the rush he gets when he writes a phrase or a paragraph that’s exactly right, just what he meant to say. He loves being able to look back on his accounts of where he’s been and what he’s done. He loves having them, and he loves writing them. How has it never occurred to him before?

“You should do this,” Penelope says, so quietly he almost misses it. He raises her head and looks right at her—her gaze is direct, for once, her brown eyes very wide. “For a living. This is what you should do.”

It’s honestly never occurred to Colin before. He’s almost a junior and he has no idea what he wants to do with his life—he’s switched majors three times, his most recent trip being a history class that was, overall, pretty disappointing (apart from the whole being-in-Greece thing, which was amazing). But he’s never thought about studying writing. He’s never thought about how it might feel to do this for a living—to travel, to write about it.

It seems so simple now. He loves it. He is—according to Penelope, at least—good at it. Why not try?

“I’ll send you all of the files tomorrow,” he promises her, and is rewarded with another blinding smile.

“I can’t wait.”

 

_Seven years later_

It is a perfect example of how Penelope’s life goes that, when she sees Colin Bridgerton for the first time in months at the end-of-year English department party, she’s halfway into taking an enormous bite of a chocolate éclair.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says with a grin when he approaches her. “Is that as good as it looks?”

Penelope nods, and his expression turns wistful. “The food was never this good back in my day,” he says, as if it’s been decades instead of just a few years since he graduated. “Can’t wait to try it all.”

Penelope notices he’s got a plate piled so high it’s a miracle he’s managing to keep it upright. It’s not a surprise; whenever Colin’s travel articles include pictures he’s taken himself, they’re almost all of food. Eloise has joked before that it’s amazing he even stops eating long enough to take said pictures.

“It’s so good to see you,” Penelope manages when she’s finished with the éclair, and Colin sets his plate on a table to hold his arms out for a hug. It never fails to thrill her a little, never mind that every member of the Bridgerton family—even Anthony and Benedict, rarely as she sees them—always hugs her in greeting. Still, it’s different when it’s Colin. It’s always different when it’s Colin.

“You look great,” he says when they pull away, with that ridiculously engaging smile of his. “I like your dress.”

It’s not the usual compliment of a male friend to a female friend, but ever since Penelope started college—and became fully responsible for her own clothing—Colin has always made a point of complimenting her on it, and it’s the nicest thing in the world. “Charity,” Penelope says, with feeling, smoothing down the dark green pleated skirt.

Colin blinks. “Sorry?”

“Charity,” she repeats, firmly. “The day I moved into the apartment and didn’t have to spend any time at home if I didn’t want to—everything, all of the old clothing, boxed up and donated.” She sighs, deep and true, and Colin chuckles. “Believe me, giving had never felt so good.”

He laughs then, and Penelope smiles. She’s spent so much time feeling so awkward around so many people—it’s amazing that the man she’s loved for most of her life is almost never one of them. But there’s something about Colin that makes everyone comfortable, and there’s a lot to be said for that. He makes Penelope feel like herself, which is probably a large part of _why_ she’s always loved him.

“You look great, too,” she adds, because of course he does. He always does. “Very tan.”

“Cyprus _is_ known for its sunny climate, you know,” he says, in a mockingly didactic tone, and Penelope murmurs, _“really?”_ as she clasps a hand to her heart, like she hadn’t spent a week editing the three articles he posted during his time there.

Ever since that one horribly awkward moment that turned into the greatest luck of Penelope’s life, Colin has been sending her his work almost as soon as he’s finished writing it. When she started college with a major in English, creative writing concentration, he started asking her to edit it as well. And he’s claimed ever since that she does it so well, he wouldn’t dream of going to anyone else.

It’s been the basis of a friendship for which Penelope is absurdly grateful. It’s given her a chance to stand her ground with Colin, an opportunity to show him how good she is at what she does, a way to critique him as needed and an excuse to praise him when he deserves (which, honestly, is quite a lot). She sees him only a few times a year, but they e-mail back and forth at least several times a week, so when she does see him, it’s as if they’re picking up an ongoing conversation. It always gives her something to say to him.

It’s not perfect—it isn’t what she’s always wanted with Colin—but it’s so much better than it used to be, and she genuinely treasures it.

“Have you seen Eloise yet?” Penelope asks, because no matter how much she loves having Colin to herself, Eloise is her best friend and always has been, and Penelope knows she’s been dying to see her brother. “She was late getting here, but she should be—”

“God, no,” Colin blurts out, then grins sheepishly at Penelope’s censorious expression. “Come on. My family _swarms_ me whenever I’m back in town. I’ll see her soon enough. Can’t you grant me the briefest of reprieves?”

Penelope’s about to respond, but as she’s glancing around the room, she grins. “I think you’re about to regret saying that.”

Colin opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a loud yell of “Colin Bridgerton!” and the blood drains from his face.

“I regret everything,” he says, and Penelope bursts out laughing.

“No escaping it,” she says brightly. “Doesn’t Eloise sound so much better now?”

“I’ll give you twenty dollars if you don’t leave me alone with her,” Colin says urgently, and Penelope chokes on air. “Are you serious?”

“Forty,” Colin practically hisses as Dr. Danbury, head of the English department, pokes through some freshmen with her cane on her way to them.

“Sold,” Penelope murmurs, not because she needs the money, but because it’s really sort of fun for Colin to be begging her for something. “Dr. Danbury,” she says, more loudly, as the professor approaches them, thumping her cane to announce her arrival, as she tends to. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so,” Dr. Danbury says sharply. “Except my nephew, and maybe my grandson. I’ve always liked her,” she adds, turning to Colin. “Did she tell you I’m going to be her thesis advisor next year?”

“God help us all,” Colin mutters under his breath, and Penelope elbows him in the side.

“Eh?”

“It’s always delightful to see you, Dr. Danbury,” Colin says, a little more loudly. It’s probably to everyone’s advantage, in all honesty, that Dr. Danbury is a bit deaf. Though she’s usually better at overhearing disparaging comments about herself, no matter how quietly stated. It’s part of why most of the department is terrified of her.

Penelope has always liked her, though. She’s absolutely brilliant, scathingly honest, and—at the heart of it all—endlessly fair in her grading. Penelope’s favorite classes have all been with her, and she wouldn’t have even considered anyone else to chair her master’s thesis.

“You’re a liar, Colin Bridgerton,” Dr. Danbury says, rather cheerfully, but she lets him give her a half-hug and kiss her cheek. “It’s been years. Too afraid of me to come visit more often?”

“I _am_ out of the country pretty often,” he points out. “Given that it’s, you know, how I make my living?”

To which Dr. Danbury sniffs disdainfully and turns to Penelope to demand, “How much did he pay you not to leave him alone with me?”

The laughter explodes out of Penelope, half through her nose, and she claps a hand to her mouth before looking to Colin for further instruction.

“Go ahead,” Colin says, gesturing graciously. “You’ve done your part.”

“You don’t actually have to pay me,” she says once she’s managed to recover her breath.

“Wasn’t going to,” he retorts, grinning.

“Forty,” Penelope explains to Dr. Danbury, who scowls.

“Only forty? Come on, Colin, be a good sport. Round it up to fifty, why don’t you.”

“Me? A humble travel journalist?” Colin shakes his head mournfully. “And in this economy?”

“Oh, stop,” Dr. Danbury mutters, whacking him lightly in the leg with her cane. (Colin winces anyway.) “Judging by your Christmas presents, you’re doing just fine financially.”

“You buy her Christmas presents?” Penelope asks, just as Colin exclaims, “I have _never_ bought you Christmas presents.”

“No?” Dr. Danbury murmurs. “Well, you certainly should.” And as both of them are trying to figure out how to respond to that, she practically cackles, thumping her cane on the ground again. “I must say, this is the most fun I’ve had all semester.”

“Me, too,” Penelope says automatically, and is surprised to find that it’s true. It’s been a busy spring as she finishes her undergrad work and prepares to start her thesis; she hasn’t had a lot of free time. Plus, this is the first time she’s seen Colin all year, but she’s not about to broadcast how happy that makes her.

“I suppose I’m obliged to agree,” Colin murmurs, “although mostly I’m happy not to be measuring time in semesters anymore.”

“Well, this one’s been boring as hell,” Dr. Danbury says bluntly. “It’s about time we had some excitement around here. Don’t you think, Mr. Haywood?” she calls to a passing student, who nearly trips over his feet in alarm.

“Uh,” he says, then adds quickly, “I’m not sure—but I usually try to agree with you, Dr. Danbury.”

“Pff,” she says, shooing him along, before turning back to Colin and Penelope with a look in her eye that could only be described as _diabolical._ “I have had a brilliant idea, and I’m thrilled both of you are here to witness its announcement.”

Colin and Penelope exchange looks of alarm.

“Stay right there,” Dr. Danbury says, unnecessarily, as she stomps her way up to the podium set up for opening and closing remarks. It takes her several loud, amplified throat-clearings and cane-bangings to get everyone’s attention; clearly no one was expecting an announcement in the middle of the reception.

“As some of you may know,” she says without preamble once the room is mostly silent, “I’ve been preparing to announce a scholarship for next year.”

At that, the room goes dead quiet, punctuated by a few frantic whispers. It’s pretty clear that no one has heard about this at all.

“Ten thousand,” Dr. Danbury says, and if possible, the room goes even more silent at that. Penelope’s own eyes are widening.

“Ten thousand… and there’s only one requirement for application.”

The whispers are getting a little louder, and everyone is straining towards Dr. Danbury’s words.

“The scholarship,” she says, loud and clear and firm, “goes to whoever first finds out who writes the Whistledown column!”


End file.
